


Staying Warm

by chockfullofsecrets



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Huddling For Warmth, Tickling, it's totally platonic but once again Molly makes everything weird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:40:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24813193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chockfullofsecrets/pseuds/chockfullofsecrets
Summary: (sequel toOne Minute)Molly doesn’t think of himself as a very patient person. Less of a thinker and more ‘charge in with prop swords spinning and see what happens’, him. Even so, his current urge to shove Caleb to the floor of their cart and tickle him to pieces seems a little extreme.It’s a cold night, and Molly’s patience is rewarded.
Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf & Caleb Widogast
Comments: 10
Kudos: 72





	Staying Warm

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Poe for giving me a direction to go in :)

Molly doesn’t think of himself as a very patient person. Less of a thinker and more ‘charge in with prop swords spinning and see what happens’, him. Even so, his current urge to shove Caleb to the floor of their cart and tickle him to pieces seems a little extreme. 

Only a little, though - it’s been weeks since that tavern in Zadash, and he would think that he’d misread Caleb entirely but for the way he keeps _looking_ at him and startling a little every time Molly waves back, sometimes forgetting his train of thought entirely. There’s something there that he’s itching to pry into, but his years with the circus have taught him the importance of minding his own business. They’re on the road, and if his interference ends with Caleb going off the rails any more than he already does he’s pretty sure one of his other teammates will smother him in his sleep.

Good luck to them, anyway. He has it on good authority that he’s hard to kill, not to mention that he has a _shiny new sword_ courtesy of Mr. Caleb Widogast himself.

He’s putting the scimitar to good use, spinning it lazily as he paces the outskirts of camp on a night watch. It’s been getting colder, frost lingering in the mornings in a way that he’s never seen before, and the rest of his friends are huddling under every warm thing they own in their tents - everyone except Caleb, his watch partner, who he can barely make out by the dying fire.

The fire flares - they have the silver thread laid around, but Caleb still insists both on sitting his own watches and keeping a light up so he can actually see. More than once, his hypervigilance has ended with the entire group shaken and shouted awake only to find that the impending threat is something harmless and smugly unconcerned at sword-and-spell-point of seven sleepy assholes. 

Nott can make all the jokes about midnight snacks that she wants, and Molly honestly doesn’t care as long as their alarm system works when it needs to, but it does lead him to wondering what in the nine hells has their resident wizard so on edge in the first place. Which makes him think about getting Caleb to _lose_ that edge, which makes him think about - nope. No. 

Patience is _terrible_.

He strolls back around to the fire, tail flicking forward to catch the traces of blistering warmth as the fire blows his way; even his tiefling blood demands a bit of thawing eventually. Caleb, he notices disapprovingly, is shivering even with his knees practically brushing the spindly branches they’ve scrounged up as kindling. “Are you cold?”

“I’m fine,” Caleb says quietly. He hasn’t so much as twitched at Molly’s approach, eyes fixed somewhere at the edge of the firelight. Molly squints over, confirms that there’s nothing out there that deserves attention more than him, and snags one of Caleb’s hands to check the temperature. 

It’s ice cold. “It’s close enough to the light for me to see colors, dear. You’re practically blue.”

“Jester will be thrilled,” Caleb deadpans. Molly rolls his eyes and sticks his free hand down the back of Caleb’s neck - still cold, which is a little more concerning and continues to prove that his coat is more for storage than any kind of protection. _That_ gets Caleb’s attention, the last syllable of his retort choked out as he briefly relaxes against the warmth of Molly’s hand before jerking away. 

“Not if she has to turn you un-blue in the morning, she won’t. I know you’re not so keen on fire, but I imagine cold damage isn’t great either.” Molly straightens up and nudges Caleb’s knee with his boot. “Scoot over, we’ll cuddle until you get warm again.”

“W- _was_? No!” Caleb barely looks warmer even with a flush high on his cheeks, which only encourages Molly to flop down on crossed legs and reach out an inviting arm.

“Come on. It doesn’t need to be weird, let’s just get your fingers back to a normal color.”

Caleb shuffles his feet and eyes Molly distrustingly, still prominently blushing, but finally he shivers again and sighs and moves a reluctant inch closer. “Fine. But only for a little while - we are supposed to be watching too, _ja_?” 

Molly hooks an arm around his shoulder and tows him in, their crossed legs knocking together. “Mr. Caleb, are you proposing that I might forget my solemn duties to the group? I am hurt, I’m offended - ah, shit, what is it?”

Caleb has gone an entirely new shade of red, dangerously stiff under Molly’s arm. Molly resists the urge to check if his cheeks are actually warming. “Okay, I lied, this is now weird. Care to tell your new heat source what’s going on? Are we too close?” He smirks despite himself. “Not close enough?”

Caleb makes an agonized noise, head bowing. “Sorry, sorry, I don’t know - ah - you are very warm as is, Mr. Mollymauk. Thank you.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out in a drifting cloud that joins with the smoke of the fire. Molly watches him teeter back towards equilibrium and very deliberately does not think about what he could do to upset the balance.

“Hey, I’m warmer too. People are good insulation.” Caleb interrupts his own brooding to shoot him an incredulous look, and Molly decides to change the subject for both of their sakes. “Hey, tell me what you were reading today.”

“In the cart?” Caleb’s voice is light, distracted. “Ah, I was reading about -” Watching his face in profile, Molly has a perfect view of Caleb’s brow furrowing, his mouth working in incomprehension. “Um. A spell,” he finishes lamely.

Molly gapes. “Caleb,” he says slowly, “I have seen you speak in more detail about magic when you are seconds out of being _catatonic_. If you don’t tell me what’s wrong with you, I’m going to go get Jester.”

He prods Caleb accusingly with a finger, and Caleb _squeaks_. The sound tweaks something down in his stomach, an urge and a memory he’s been suppressing, and Molly’s eyes narrow. “Wait.”

Caleb shivers, and Molly is fairly certain it has nothing to do with cold. It might, in fact, have everything to do with the grin that’s currently taking over Molly’s face. “Molly, _Entschuldigung_ , I just forgot-”

“You,” Molly continues, smacking his lips on each word like it’s dessert, “are distracted. You get distracted every time I so much as wave at you. You and your perfect memory are _forgetting things_. And, as _my_ memory is still working more or less the same, I happen to remember a particular instance where you forgot how to tell time-”

He crooks his fingers just so around Caleb’s shoulder, and the resulting flinch almost sends the other man tumbling out of his grasp. “ _Stop_ ,” Caleb blurts, the red from before flooding back into his face as he pins Molly with a frantic glare. “Fine, I am distracted, it is awful and it is all your fault because when you wave at me you do this thing with your fingers-” He waggles his fingers in brief demonstration, jerky with misplaced adrenaline, and Molly can’t keep himself from laughing delightedly. “Stop that! I am _annoyed_ , Molly, if I cannot even sit next to you and I am not sure how to make it stop-”

“Oh. Oh, gods, please stop, I can’t.” Molly gets out between cackles, tugging a sputtering Caleb back in until he really is cuddling him, his chin resting on ginger hair. Caleb resists initially, flailing to stay upright, but eventually all five-foot-something of his grumpy self is leaned begrudgingly into Molly’s side. “Do you really forget what you’re saying every time you think about me tickling you?”

Caleb is tellingly silent.

“Mr. Caleb, that is _adorable_.” He heaves a satisfied sigh with the last of his laughter, can feel his tail flapping contentedly somewhere behind him. “I think I might be doing you a favor, then, to put you out of your misery.”

“And how, Mr. Mollymauk, do you intend to do this?” Caleb snipes, a little petulant. Molly visualizes the pout that might go along with it and almost starts laughing again. 

“Tickling you more, of course,” Molly declares, tightening his grip as Caleb makes to struggle again. “Hey, hey, it’ll help! I knew it, I knew you liked it - I was hoping you’d decide to do something nice for yourself for once and come ask, but this is fine. Gives me something to look forward to.”

“To look forward - Molly, I will not _ask_ you to - I can’t -” 

Caleb’s voice is strained, as if he’s just now realizing that asking is something he might actually want to do and he’s trying to shove the realization back down his own throat, and Molly is so, so tempted to push him, to let his fingers hover over sensitive skin until Caleb can’t do anything _but_ plead with him to just get it over with, but instead he just hums noncommittally. “Alright, calm down, we’ll save that one for another day.”

He waits, rubbing a thumb in small circles on the harsh jut of Caleb’s shoulder until he feels the other man settle slightly. “This is not ideal,” he mutters, self-loathing laced in every word, and Molly’s heart squeezes uncomfortably. He squeezes Caleb back just as tight.

“Oh, woe to you, you need to laugh once in a while. If you don’t give yourself what you need, your body’s going to come calling for it eventually, Caleb.” Caleb makes an affronted noise at that, but Molly just retaliates with a sloppy kiss to the top of his head. “Right, then - how _do_ I want to do this…”

“Now? Wait, _scheiße_ -” And then Caleb stops talking, because having an enormous raspberry blown into the side of your neck is the sort of thing that is very difficult to talk through.

He shouts, soft but startled, and Molly manages to get a couple more raspberries in under the scruff regrowing on his chin as he pinpoints the moment when the feeling stops being shocking and starts getting ticklish - Caleb almost _whines_ , shoulders ratcheting up around his ears. Molly can feel him practically vibrating, each breath hitching in his chest as he tries to prevent it from becoming a laugh. “W-what is thahat-”

“Don’t worry about it. Here, you’ll recognize this one,” Molly teases, rearranging his hug until his fingers can get under Caleb’s coat. He kneads gently at the softness just below protruding ribs, triumphant as Caleb gasps and dissolves into insistent giggles and twists frantically with absolutely nowhere to go. “I know you’re forgetful, dear, but do try and remember to be quiet? It’s the middle of the night, you know.”

“Molly - _bitte, bitte,_ I cahahan’t!” He feels Caleb working an arm out of his hold, but instead of using it to do anything that would actually stop the tickling it sounds to be stuffed against his face. It fills the purpose for now, but Molly makes a mental note to try and break Caleb of the habit of covering up his smile later.

“You can’t remember? Poor thing.” One hand stays at Caleb’s side, drawing out intoxicating bursts of stifled laughter, and the other strays up to the leather of his book holsters, fingers pushing through to the sensitive area underneath. “Ugh, this is hard. One of these days I’ll get you to take these off first, hm?”

Caleb’s too far gone to protest the potential distance from his beloved books, head jerking back as Molly sees an opening and darts in to blow another raspberry on a defenseless stretch of neck. His hand doesn’t move with it, and for a brief instance his unabashed peal of laughter is exposed to the night air. Molly drinks it in, fingers stilling for an instant, then redoubles his efforts to get up under Caleb’s holsters and tickle the tops of his ribs where he knows from previous experience it’ll send Caleb into absolute fits. 

For all his implied forgetfulness, Caleb does seem to realize that they’re out in the open and mere feet from the rest of their sleeping group - Molly has more or less stopped caring about that particular nuance, but Caleb registers the encroaching attack on his sanity as fingers digging into his upper ribs and jerks out of Molly’s grip with unprecedented strength, narrowly avoiding the fire as he crashes onto the dirt. It wouldn’t be too difficult to stop him regardless, or chase him down - Molly’s tail twitches at the thought - but those, too, are perhaps best saved for later. 

The cold is almost welcome after minutes of tussling, and Molly takes a deep bracing breath before leaning over to assess the damage.

He gets a good look at Caleb’s face, red and flustered and wreathed in a laughter-bright smile, as he clutches his chest and wheezes for breath. “You,” he gasps, “you are a dangerous one, Mr. Mollymauk.”

Molly beams down at him. “Am I?” he asks, more pleased than innocent.

Caleb, sprawled on his back, looks wryly over with blue eyes that seem nearly alight. “Would you have stopped before or after I woke up everyone in the camp?”

He shrugs. “Well, you didn’t ask nicely for your favor. Do that, and maybe you’ll earn yourself some consideration.”

Caleb’s head lolls back to the sky, eyes slipping shut, and he does at least seem like he’s considering it. “You call it a favor, but somehow I do not feel very encouraged to thank you.”

“I could make you,” Molly quips, gratified when Caleb’s eyes snap back to him. “But I won’t. Because we’re on watch.”

“... and what happens when we are _not_ on watch?”

“You’d better hope you learn some manners by then, Mister.” Molly fixes him with an indulgent grin, lets Caleb pick himself up off the ground and shake his head ruefully.

Then, surprisingly, he reaches a hand down to Molly. They don’t quite manage eye contact, but the soft “thank you” reaches Molly’s ears and plants itself somewhere deep in his chest that, blazing warm, is entirely untouched by the weather.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you’re so inclined, feel free to come say hi on my tumblr!


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